Lorenzo slowly opened his eyes. His gray-blue eyes appeared somewhat vacant and lifeless as he leaned against the wardrobe tilted to one side, holding a half-burned cigarette in his mouth.
He didn't speak, and the surroundings were extremely silent.
Heracles didn't speak either. He didn't dare to break the current silence, looking at the disheveled Lorenzo. At this moment, he resembled a dead man.
After an unknown period, Lorenzo's stiff body finally moved slightly. He tried to sit up a bit and then spat the cigarette butt aside.
The time within the Memory Palace seemed long; however, only a few minutes had actually passed, and the self-inflicted scars on his body had already begun to self-heal in this brief time.
Lorenzo raised his hand dazedly, looking at his blood-stained palm. His gaze was somewhat disoriented, as if at this moment he was still holding the Nail Sword, clad in Iron Armor, with the roars of Demons ringing in his ears.
